


Route 66

by misscai



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Baby's First Mission, Bar Fight, F/M, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-19
Updated: 2016-10-19
Packaged: 2018-08-23 10:14:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,642
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8323978
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/misscai/pseuds/misscai
Summary: Kate wants to go on a mission to take propaganda photos of the new Overwatch team. Jack allows it, but not with the partner Kate expected. It all turns out just fine. (featuring my OC Kate Holliday and her denial of feelings for a certain Jesse McCree)





	

**Author's Note:**

> back at it again with the OCs. say hi to Kate again!

“Commander Morrison?” Kate leaned in the doorway of Jack's office, a folder tucked under one arm. The man glanced up, his visor removed and the scars across his face prominent in the fluorescent lights of the reclaimed Gibraltar base. “Can I have a word?”

“It's not 'commander' anymore,” he reminded her, but waved her in anyways. She placed the folder on his desk, flipping it open and spreading the papers in a fan.

“These are the articles I've had published since I joined up,” she said. “They've gotten good publicity so far, but they're starting to be repetitive. There's only so many times I can say that we're the good guys before people want real proof.”

“What's the point here, kid?”

“I want to go on the next mission. With a camera.” Jack was already shaking his head, but Kate pressed on. “It'll be like the original days of Overwatch. People need to see the heroes who are saving them, they need to be able to relate to them. The kids need to be able to dress up as them for Halloween; there should be action figures in every store window.”

“Overwatch is illegal. There can't be pictures of us on the front pages of magazines.”

“Then I start publishing on underground sites and start with the tech-savvy teenagers who can dig this stuff out. It'll circle to the surface eventually, with a good connotation alongside.” She folded her arms over her chest. “But first I need the pictures.”

“Out of the question.”

“Why?”

“You have no formal training—none. If there were a firefight, your safety would fall on the other agents, and that could compromise all of you. If you were to get captured, you have no training in resisting interrogation and you could destroy this whole operation. Then I would have to send in a rescue team, which would risk more agents as well as putting you in danger.”

“I can handle it,” Kate insisted. “I'm more capable than you think. And I know I'm not a super soldier, but I can take care of myself.” He was quiet for a moment, but then he shook his head.

“No. Not a real mission. There's too much at stake.” Kate gritted her teeth, gathering her materials before spinning sharply on her heel to stalk out of the room. “Holliday!” Jack's bark made her pause, though she glared at him when she turned around. He sighed, rubbing a hand along the back of his neck. “A transport is taking a team to Route 66 for a routine check. You have one hour to be on that transport. Do not make me regret this.”

“Yes, sir.” Kate repressed her smile until she was out in the hallway.

.

She had opted for a small bag, just with a camera and a notebook inside. Anything else might be too obvious if they ran into any trouble. All she needed were a few shots of the team in action; of course, if she knew who exactly was on the team, she could start planning before they even left the base. Probably Lena, because she went on almost all the missions. Hopefully Ana would tag along; a photo of a sniper, especially one from the original days of Overwatch, would be popular. If Kate was really lucky, Jack might decide to come, too.

But luck had never been on Kate's side, as the door to the transport opened and Jesse McCree settled into the seat across from her. The transport started moving.

“Are the others meeting us there?” She asked, already knowing the answer.

“It ain't a big op,” Jesse told her. “Patrols don't take more 'n two people.”

“Jack planned this, didn't he?” Kate was fuming, her fists clenched tight. “I was getting on his nerves so he put me with the one person he _knew_ would drive me crazy.”

“You don't hate me and I drive you crazy? What are we to each other, darlin'?” His smirk just made her kick his shin. Her head thumped back on the headrest, her eyes closing and a sigh slipping out of her mouth.

“I can't believe my pictures are all gonna be of _you.”_ They were quiet for a moment, only the hum of the transport making sound.

“I'm real sorry I ruined your trip,” Jesse said, more sincere than she would've expected. Kate lifted her head, watching him carefully. He met her eyes for a brief moment, then busied himself with Peacekeeper. “I thought I was doin' you a favor when I volunteered to go. It was s'posed to be Reyes.” Kate took some time to process Jesse's words. There were an awful lot of inferences contained in those few sentences. One: Jesse thought Kate was unhappy about having him along. Maybe she was; she didn't really know. There were less desirable companions than a flirty cowboy. Two: Jesse volunteered to go with Kate, alone, on what was essentially a propaganda mission. That seemed a little bit below him—any of the heroes, really, but especially him. Yet here he was. Third: he had volunteered in place of Gabriel, as a favor to Kate to ease her comfort level. He had gone against Jack, his current CO, and Gabriel, his former CO, to do it. And why? Perhaps he was still trying to win her over. Perhaps she was just a conquest—likely he wasn't used to women not falling at his feet. But maybe... maybe he was honestly thinking of her. Maybe he truly did care.

He was watching her, pretending to polish the barrel of his pistol. Kate didn't look at him, but slouched down in her seat and put on an air of indifference. “Well,” she said with a shrug, “I suppose I'd rather have you.”

Jesse tipped his head down in feigned concentration, hiding a smile behind the brim of his hat.

.

They spent the entire day walking in and out of abandoned buildings along the Route. Jesse would clear out trespassing gang members, whether by voice or by force. Kate stayed nearby, her camera at the ready and snapping photos of Jesse as he worked. It wasn't until dusk that she began requesting specific poses, and then things were actually—to her surprise—fun. He was ridiculous and unabashed, and Kate started laughing despite herself.

“I'm gettin' hungry,” he said, knocking a spur against the corner of a billboard stand, a wild grin on his face. “Want dinner?”

“Yeah.” They started off down the road, not really talking anymore, but the silence wasn't tense. Kate tilted her head back, marveling at how clear the sky was. She didn't notice when she fell behind Jesse, nor when he stopped short in front of her, making her run straight into his back. “Hey!”

“You want some on-the-spot training?” He adjusted his hat and smirked, motioning to the bar a little further down the Route. “Lesson one: target acquisition. I'm gonna go ahead of you and blend into the crowd. You're gonna try 'n find me, without callin' attention to yourself. Got it?”

“Easy,” Kate scoffed, leaning against a destroyed truck while Jesse loped off into the bar. What a simple task. Jesse would stand out, she was sure of it. With his ostentatious personality and that stupid belt buckle of his. All she'd have to do is follow the smell of his constantly-present cigars.

After a few minutes, Kate headed in after him, a confident sway in her step that died the moment she passed the threshold. The bar was full of cowboy hats and cigar smoke. Really she should've expected this, and she inwardly cursed herself for not realizing it. It didn't matter. She knew Jesse, and she could find him.

She started at the bar, ordering a shot of whiskey and downing it as she scanned the room. Most everyone was older, gray grizzled beards and stern faces staring at card games. Poker chips were stacked around tables and peanut shells littered the floor. She casually leaned into the back room, the pool tables too crowded to really get a good view. It was a small bar; surely she could track him down quickly.

A flash of gold caught her eye, and she followed along after it, towards the back porch. He had ditched the serape, she noticed, but the red plaid and worn brown hat were familiar. Kate grinned, coming up behind him at the corner of the porch and knocking the hat off his head.

“Gotcha,” she declared smugly. She was ready to brag some more, but suddenly her face smacked against the wall of the bar and a fist crushed around her throat. Acrid cigar smoke stung her eyes.

“You got a lot of nerve messin' with me, bitch.” She didn't know this man—it was not Jesse. Even if Jesse was pretending to be a stranger, he'd never hurt her, not like this. She was sure. Kate kicked out her foot, nailing the man in the kneecap, but he only tightened his grip and lifted her up off the ground.

“Get off me,” she choked, writhing in his grip as her vision started going spotty. He just laughed at her, the sound dark and grating.

“Whoa, now, hold on.” A new hand entered the picture, clasping onto the assailant's shoulder and casually pulling backwards until the fist around Kate's throat slackened just enough for her to breathe. “Seems like there's been a misunderstandin'.”

“Ain't nothin' misunderstood,” the man growled, shoving Kate against the wall again. The bricks scratched against her cheekbone, drawing blood. “The whore was disrespectin' me.”

“Mighty sorry 'bout that,” Jesse said, rolling his eyes and motioning towards Kate. “She's a little spitfire. Still tryin' to break her in.” The man glanced at Kate, who was trying to wriggle away. For spite he squeezed harshly, until Kate thought her esophagus would crumple beneath the force. Then he dropped her, allowing her to fall into an unseemly heap on the ground. Jesse helped her up in a cold, offhand way, mixing annoyance with disappointment in his gaze.

“You'd better teach your whore some damn respect,” the man said, spitting a wad of mucus that landed mere inches from Kate's toes. He started to walk back into the bar, but suddenly she was in front of him with Peacekeeper—swiped from Jesse's hip holster—leveled directly at the man's nose. He twisted his face into a scowl that only fueled her anger.

“I'll kill you for this,” she swore, her voice broken, pulling back the hammer and placing her finger over the trigger. “You fucking bastard.” Before she could shoot, Jesse had twisted her arm behind her back and jerked the gun away.

“Get your ass back to the hotel and stay there until I come back,” he ordered, shoving her towards the porch steps. Kate whirled around, a volley of curses on her tongue, but Jesse shot her a glare that made her stomach clench as if she'd been punched. Seething and sick with emotion, Kate retreated into the dark.

.

They didn't actually have a hotel room rented, and Kate wanted to punish Jesse for how he'd treated her at the bar. She wandered among the abandoned buildings, picking one and climbing to the roof to hide in the shadow of a billboard. Her throat ached, her face throbbing in the swollen parts. She could only imagine the bruises that would appear in the morning. Jack would never let her off of the base again when he saw her sorry state. He'd give her a dressing-down that would shame her for weeks. Maybe he'd even send her away for causing trouble. Not to mention the chastisement that Jesse would undoubtedly have for her, when he found her...

She couldn't stop thinking about the way he'd looked at her. Like she was a disgrace, a disappointment that he couldn't correct. It bothered her more than she would have expected. Why did she care so much? Perhaps it was just the sheer whiplash of his change in temperament: one moment they were laughing together, taking ridiculous photos in empty warehouses, and the next he looked like he wanted to squash her beneath his boot. But even as she tried to rationalize to herself, she knew that none of her excuses were true. Jesse McCree had stuck his stupid spurs into her heart, and they weren't coming loose any time soon. Damn him, and damn her for letting it happen—but damn it all, it was too late to change. The facts were the facts, and Kate loved him. That was it.

His boots signaled his arrival, mounting the ladder that allowed access to the roof. A little sigh of relief came from him, audible even over the distance between them. Kate forced herself to revert back to her stone-cold, unaffected demeanor. It would be less painful if she met anger with annoyance. Jesse walked over to the ledge she sat on, settling down beside her and letting his feet hang over the edge of the building. He didn't speak, and Kate grew impatient.

“Just get it over with,” she demanded. “I know you're pissed.”

“I was,” he said slowly.

“Then call Jack and tell him I screwed up, so we can get out of here.” He glanced over at her, and Kate looked away.

“Way I see it, there's nothin' to tell Jack.” That did get her attention, and she peeked at him out of her peripheral vision. “We got into a tight spot and you defended yourself. Nothin' wrong with that.” She pressed her mouth together in a thin line, wincing when the motion irritated her split lip. Jesse reached out and swiped away the blood with the pad of his thumb, almost unthinkingly, hopefully ignorant of the way that Kate's heart jolted at the contact. “We oughta ice that eye of yours before the swelling gets bad.”

“Let it swell,” she muttered, “I don't care.”

“I do,” he said, his voice pitched low and smooth. Kate shivered. “Here.” Jesse had retrieved his serape from wherever he'd stashed it during the bar escapade; now he draped it around her shoulders. “Desert gets chilly at night.” The fabric was warm and smelled like him—gun oil and cigar smoke and his cologne. Kate pulled it closer, ignoring the look that Jesse gave her.

“Why do you care so much?” There was a pause. Jesse pulled his hat low over his eyes, laying back and letting out an exasperated chuckle.

“Ain't it obvious?” He took a deep breath; Kate watched his chest rise and fall. “I like ya, Kate. I like ya a lot.”

“R-Really?” She cursed herself for that being the only word she could utter—she was a writer, for God's sake, surely she could do better—but her stomach had flipped and fluttered right out of her body. Jesse looked at her from under the brim of his hat.

“Really.” He sat up with a sigh, clasping his hands together between his knees and staring at the ground two stories below. “I know ya don't like me much, an' I'm not expectin' to change your mind, but I'm not gonna lie to ya.” His spur clicked against the worn clapboards. “'Specially if there was any chance that you felt the same.” She wasn't expecting his head to tilt, those honey-brown eyes focusing on her face so intently that she wanted to squirm. “Is there?”

“Yes,” Kate whispered, and the slow spread of Jesse's grin made her toes curl. She fought the feeling. “Only a little chance. Don't get cocky.”

“Wouldn't dream of it, darlin'.” He extended his arm as an invitation. Kate huffed but still scooted closer, leaning into his side and decidedly not reveling in the warmth of his palm curling around her hip.


End file.
